Freudian Slipcover

What I've been up to

2008-09-26T21:53:00.004+02:00

I may not have been able to string a sentence together lately, but I haven't been completely idle. Hubby and I have been busy printing and framing some of our photos. Like this one:

www.bardotimages.com is the place to go for more!

Hello again!

2008-04-07T21:37:00.002+02:00

Good thing this blog has a slipcover - the dust in here is unbelievable.

I can't stay long as I'm already sneezing but I thought I'd pop in and open a window to see if I can air the place out.

I have much less time at the ole computer desk since I've become a Dublin commuter - that's shaved about two hours off of each weekday. As well, I now have to compete with the entire family who are all addicted to their facebooks.

Anyway, if you're here, leave me a comment - I'd love to know you're around!

Holy Shit

2007-06-06T19:25:00.000+02:00

I passed.

Nobody is more surprised by this than I. Delighted, but surprised nonetheless.

Last night we celebrated by drinking champagne and playing the kids' new Nintendo Wii bowling game.

Today my ass hurts.

51 Weeks*

2007-06-05T10:53:00.000+02:00

This afternoon I am off to make my first attempt at getting an Irish driver's licence. I don't expect to pass - evidently it's rare to be successful the first time. I've heard several theories about why it's so difficult to pass the test, but I think it comes down to the fact that it's just plain harder to drive here.

Having said all that, I'm still nervous. You may not have noticed, but I have this lil thing about approval... *sigh*

*The length of time between applying for and actually sitting my Driving Licence Practical test.

My Two Cents about the Virginia Tech Incident

2007-04-22T12:33:00.000+02:00

First let me say that I agree that the gun laws in the US are not stringent enough nor are they applied appropriately. Having said that, I think that there is an element to this event that has been overlooked and that is that there is precedent.

I believe that once a culture experiences an event such as this one, it paves the way for it to happen again. Add to that the amount of attention an incident like this gets and the fact that we actually are so far away from any meaningful way of treating most mental illness and we have an undeniable recipe for disaster.

There is no single answer to this deeply disturbing issue. I really think that if society is going to address this type of behaviour in any meaningful way, people need to let go of their need to protect any one group's individual interests and start working together at finding effective strategies for addressing what is fast becoming all too normal.

Only in Dublin

2007-04-18T22:15:00.000+02:00

I just found out that there will be soon a charity event in aid of prostate cancer. It's called, "The Nutcracker Ball".

Yes, seriously.

Under Pressure

2007-04-14T16:48:00.000+02:00

I've finally caved and joined facebook. So far as I can tell it's the North American version of Bebo. It seems a bit like stalker heaven, but I'm reserving judgement for now. Anybody got an opinion?

In other news, the landlord has decided to sell the house. Not only do we have the task of finding somewhere to live (a van down by the river, perhaps?) but we have the added bonus of having to keep the house cleaner than we normally would for the viewings. Our neighbours have been very good about behaving in as trashy a fashion as possible in order to discourage potential buyers. I just hope that doesn't backfire for them!

I've recently discovered red wine and diet coke... sounds gross, but tastes lovely. We got the recipe from a woman at the airport in Spain who said she got the recipe in Tenerife. I add loads of ice, a bit of fruit and call it "White Trash Sangria". I'm off now to make some...

*NB It's a sad day for Canada. RIP June Callwood

Great day...

2007-04-08T18:00:00.000+02:00

for a Guinness

Propped back up

2007-03-31T20:46:00.000+02:00

And then, one of my best real life friends who doesn't know anything about the dumpage, sent me this...

http://www.freehugscampaign.org:80/index.php?categoryid=1

and I felt a bit better.
*sigh*

Dumped

2007-03-29T22:22:00.000+02:00

My best virtual friend has dumped me, AGAIN. Seems he can't be friends with me if he has a girlfriend in real life. Even though I have been married the entire time I've known him AND live a million miles away.

Yeah, so which one of us is the fool? And if that's my best net friend, what's my worst friend like?

Still sucks to be dumped.

*sigh*

A Stitch in Time?

2007-03-08T22:47:00.000+01:00

Holy Shit Batman it's March already...

I've been a very bad blogger.

Up to my tits (as they say here, how cute is that) with work and family and life in general. Not that I don't want to be documenting it... somehow, time is slipping away on me. I don't know how or why, but I do know it started around the same time I asked my husband to turn back the clock because I wasn't ready to get out of bed one morning.

Coincidence?

The January Blah blah blah

2007-01-20T13:04:00.000+01:00

I didn't drown in the tub.

I did have major problems with Eircom; the Irish equivalent of Ma Bell. We have been through months of Irish consumer hell and seem to have come out the other side with a functional modem and a promise of free service for a while. Oh my breath, I am not holding...

Actually, now that I think about it, this month has been fraught with frustration and it's probably for the best that I didn't have access to blog about it. If I had it probably would have gone a lot like this: "fuckity fuck fuck, fuckin fuckers, fuck!"

There might also have been a few passages about being squished to red alert for panic attack on the train and my subsequent dealings with Irish Rail's customer service department. See above.

And then I would have told you all about how my work is being undermined and that my boss has warned me in advance that she intends to treat the whole team very badly in the weeks leading up to a major event because she's neurotic. Her word, not mine. Of course, I'd do that in the vaguest way possible as I'm paranoid about being dooced.

I definitely would have shared that I've finally started swimming again. I'm up to 1000 metres which is taking 30 minutes. Heart attack be damned! Haven't seen any results in my body yet, but I am sleeping better.

I might also have told you that yesterday I heard that research has proven that if you were born a pessimist you'll die one. Evidently, life orientation is an innate thing and it doesn't matter how many ways you try to train yourself to be more positive. Likewise, if you were born on the bright side, you will be the eternal optimist, regardless of how many shitkickings you take. If you were interested, you might have clicked here for a lil quiz to determine your life orientation. But I bet you already know that.

Finally, I would probably have had a little rant about the PTA at my kids' school and how they manage the registration for after school activities and how I had to queue from 9:45 until 11am on a Saturday morning to pay an extortionate amount of money so my daughter can glue popsicle sticks together for an hour on a Thursday afternoon.

Right, so that's me all caught up... what's going on with you?

Weather or Not

2006-12-31T17:33:00.000+01:00

It's official. Today's weather is the worst in the four plus years I've been in Ireland.

National Forecast

31 December 2006 12:00

Today
Extremely windy or stormy today, with strong to gale force southwesterly winds and damaging gusts of up to 130 km per hour or more, the winds veering southwest to west. Squally showers will be widespread, some of them prolonged, with scattered thunderstorms. However, there will also be some bright or sunny spells. Maximum temperatures 9 to 12 Celsius, turning colder later.

In response, I've spent most of today in bed, on the couch and in the bathtub; not a bad way to end the year, I suppose. I am looking forward to 2007 and all of the experiences that lay ahead. I hope you are too.

My Christmas Story

2006-12-27T13:24:00.000+01:00

Five years ago I wrote this story. I never had the guts to show it to more than about three people. The names have been changed, but everything else is as it happened.

About two years ago, while browsing in an antique store, I came upon the most beautiful piece of furniture I have ever seen. In the store basement, leaning up against a wall as if forgotten, was a paprika-coloured divan. It had obviously been restored recently, and the carving on its feet was exceptional in its intricacy. It was love at first sight.

After speaking with the owner of the store, it was clear that my
relationship with this treasure would be a long distance one – the asking price was well beyond anything I could afford. Even if the store would accept monthly payments, I was certain my budget couldn't be stretched quite that far without feeding my kids cat food at least once a week for the next two years. And so, I let it go.

Because the office I work in is windowless, I try to get outside at least once every day. I often go with my friend Jude to hit the second-hand stores, she out of her need to feed her addiction to shopping, and I to find clothes that fit me as I continue to lose weight.

One day in November, wanting to avoid the clothing stores for a change, I suggested we pop into the antique store I had visited two years earlier. We browsed around upstairs for a while and then Jude suggested we go downstairs: the best bargains are often found in antique-store basements. I agreed, never dreaming the same divan would still be there after all this time. But as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, there it was, in the same place it had been two years before. I could hardly believe my eyes!

I chatted briefly with the shop owner before we left. She remembered me and said she was surprised I hadn't bought the piece. I told her that my husband and I have small children at home and I just couldn't afford it. She smiled at me and said she was always open to making a deal.

I went home that night and told the story of the divan to Hubby. He reminded me that we are hoping to move overseas and pointed out the high cost of shipping furniture. I agreed, and mentioned the impracticality of owning such a thing with small children around. We laughed at the idea of fencing it in so little hands couldn't ruin the velvet fabric. Once again, I let the divan go.

I focused most of my Christmas energy on the kids. At five and three, they are at perfect ages for the magic of Christmas. I listened carefully for the things they asked Santa for, and made sure we got them all. I took care to wrap the gifts from Santa in different paper from the presents from us.

Buying for Hubby was easy. He wanted a new winter jacket: we had gone shopping in early December and he picked one out that he absolutely loved. I wrapped it and put it under the tree along with a few other things from the kids and I.

Hubby had a more difficult time shopping this year. He wasn't really in the mood for Christmas, which made it all the more challenging. He had also second-guessed himself over just about everything, and had discussed all my gifts with me.

A lovely Christmas morning finally arrived. The children slept till almost eight. Hubby and I sipped coffee while we opened our presents and enjoyed watching the kids open theirs. We were all very pleased with what we got. Then I cooked our raditional Christmas breakfast (which I insist on) of boiled eggs and got ready to go to Hubby's mum's for Christmas dinner and to exchange gifts with her, Hubby's brother, and our two nieces.

One of the things Hubby had put in my stocking was a package of ketostix which are urinalysis strips that I use to determine whether I am doing well on my diet. (You pee on 'em and they change color: the darker purple they are, the more weight you are losing.) Before we left, he got me to use one and we were both surprised at how well I was doing.

When we got to his mum's, Hubby led me down a hallway. There are only two rooms down that hall, his mum's bedroom and the bathroom, where there's a scale I weigh myself on each time we are at his mum's. So, as he was rushing me down the hall, I asked him,"What are you doing, taking me to weigh myself?" In my head I was saying, "Gawd, lighten up with the diet thing on Christmas, willya?" But Hubby led me past the bathroom and threw open the door to his mum's bedroom.

There on the floor in front of me was the most beautiful paprika -coloured, velvet covered divan I have ever seen. It took me a split second to fully understand what I was seeing – then I was completely overwhelmed. I lost it. I burst into tears. I don't think I've ever been so completely surprised by anything or anyone in my whole life.

I know I've never been this loved before.

Tis the Season

2006-12-22T11:47:00.000+01:00

Due to an unexpected visit from Conjunctiva, Queen of the Eye Goo, I won't be back to work before Christmas. And, due to a (un)lucky combination of school holidays and left over annual leave, I won't be going back until the 8th of January.

Last night as the children fought over one position on the couch while the three other prime television viewing seats lay empty, the ten year old boy roared at the eight year old girl, "YOU ARE IN DENIAL".

I simultaneously bit my lip and stepped on my own foot to stop myself from committing the cardinal parental sin: laughing out loud at your children.

Is anyone looking for a red-eyed temp over the holidays?

Malin Head

2006-12-13T16:53:00.000+01:00

is the northernmost point on the Emerald Isle. I think I saw it at its most glorious. Look...

Even the birds were showing off!

It was cold, wet and incredibly wild. In the one day I was there it rained, was icy cold, sunny and mild, had gale force winds and both thunder and lightning made an appearance. No wonder Met Eireann never appears to get it right. It's completely unpredictable; the only certainty is that the weather will change.

I know that you will find good and bad in every region of the world, but I'm still going to say that the people I've met from Donegal have been incredibly kind and hospitable.

Surfacing

2006-12-10T21:16:00.000+01:00

Slowly, things appear to be getting better for me. Clearing the wheat from my system is difficult and painful, but worth it.

I talked to a good friend from home last night; we used to work together and she was saying that there is a position opening up at the centre. I'm tempted, very tempted.

In the meantime, I'm off on my travels again. One of the things I love about my current job is the travel. Tomorrow, I'm going to the northernmost point of Ireland. I hope the weather cooperates!

One Week

2006-12-04T17:35:00.000+01:00

One week ago, I cut wheat out of my diet in an effort to start to reclaim my body, my self, my life. I am grossly intolerant to wheat and completely addicted to it. As it works its way out of my system, I've been having to cope with all manner of side effects. Headaches, nausea and a really bright pink rash all over my face to name a few. Yummy.

I also had two alcohol free days last week - not bad for party season. I'm hoping to string a few more together this week.

I lost two pounds.

So, how you doin?

My Pit of Despair

2006-11-05T13:36:00.000+01:00

Of late, I have been on the most incredible journey of self-destruction. What's worse; I have insight. So, I'm actually watching myself spiral out of control, behaving in ways that I would never have considered possible until now. It's a most bizarre experience.

I wake up every morning, promising myself today is the day that I get my life back on track; that I actually have reached my personal bottom and it's time to start getting better.

I'm not sure what happens after that. I get up, go to work, parent my kids, partner my husband and commit suicide in a slow and actually quite painful way. I overeat, drink far too much and actively avoid the things I know are good for me; like exercising my body and my mind. Lately,I'm told, I've become quite a belligerent drunk. Charmed, I'm sure.

All this insight and I'm still on a collision course with oblivion. What. The. Fuck. Seriously, what part of this am I not getting?

Anyone...Anyone... Bueller?

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T16:12:00.000+01:00

A little timewaster for your pleasure

Enjoy!

Settled Travellers

2006-10-22T11:59:00.000+02:00

I think we may have finally crossed the line between tourists and residents. We bought a car. It's an old banger of a thing and has a manual transmission. Neither hubby nor I had ever driven standard before. "How hard can it be?" I asked. Hubby was convinced it was beyond him. When a friend pointed out that lil ole ladies manage it every day, he reconsidered.

Turns out, I was right. It's really not difficult. A bit of practice and some bright red L's and Bob's yer uncle. We're so comfortable that we're off later today to take the kids to the skateboard park. This is significant because to access this place by public transport would take upwards of two hours. It will take fifteen minutes in the car.

I have a feeling that there will be some serious changes in our way of life here now. Places that were so difficult they might as well be impossible to get to are now open to us. All we have to do is jump in the car, put our seatbelts on and roar at the kids such family favourites as, "Don't MAKE me turn this car around!" How normal, how settled.

Hmm, might be time to move.

The View

2006-10-08T13:17:00.000+02:00

My monitor died this past week. We observed an appropriate period of mourning (read: until we could get to the store for a new one) and then chose a replacement. It's lovely by the way, all slender and sharp.

Of course, being where we are, we had to go through the wonderful experience of being ignored at PCWorld until we gave up and went to Harvey Norman. Once there, we decided the new monitor would look good with a remote keyboard and mouse. We didn't spend a fortune, but it was nice to have a lil impulse buy as a way to thumb our noses at PCWorld's lack of customer service.

I'm thinking about dropping them a line and offering to write the copy for their advertising. Something like, "Come to PCWorld where we are all far too hung over and apathetic to assist you in making a purchase". Or perhaps, " PCWorld, where you can't buy a pc but if you hang around long enough, you'll know who we all shagged last night! But wait! There's more! All that AND you can watch while we drink cups of tea! Now, how much would you pay?"

Anyway, I'm off to catch up with all my fave reads. You all look amazing through my new monitor, by the way.

Y'know...

2006-09-21T01:05:00.000+02:00

if I'd been born on this side of the pond, it'd be my birthday right.... NOW.

39 - Yay, me... who'da thunk it?

The Saga Continues...

2006-09-17T20:54:00.002+02:00

You may recall that I posted not so very long ago about a woman that we care about who was, in my opinion, neglecting her beautiful baby girl. Apparently, in the parenting world, this behaviour is also known as "teaching the baby to self-soothe". Regardless of what side of the pick the baby up fence you are sitting on, I'd bet money that you would not, could not, let a weeks old baby scream until she was hoarse.

Anyway, it seems our proud mama has decided to return home as the baby's daddy evidently has no intention of coming home from the other end of the earth to play happy families. I'm not even going to talk about the circumstances under which this baby was conceived in the year 2005; let's just say that there are some Nigerian scammers who could make a whole lotta money outta this girl!

OH fuckit, yes I am. She came over here from the States to avoid paying her debts and bag herself an Irish husband. She managed to find a fuck-buddy - a drunken construction worker from "down the country" and decided she'd make him mind. He had other ideas. So she stalked his ass until he gave in a little. Then she had unprotected sex at her most fertile period, which she was TRACKING...

And he ran, he ran so far away...

But, he promised to send money. And he promised, and promised. And he was going to be home for the baby's birth; then her christening; then for his brother's wedding but he'd see the baby then. And if she'd send him the receipts for the pram (stroller) and the cot(crib) he'd send money. But he had to change jobs. And then his former boss was trying to screw him by reporting him to the immigration authorities. And he had no passport. And he had no money. And on and on it went. She grasped at every straw he offered only to be raging when the promised money, visit, love; failed to materialize.

So she played her trump card. She stalked his siblings and rang a couple of them, offering to let them meet their brother's gorgeous baby daughter (and she is a stunner, make no mistake). This was met with a brick wall of resistance. No, they didn't have any interest in having a relationship with their niece and no offence, but, cut your losses and forget about him. That's what they're all trying to do. And for the love of God, please don't tell Mammy - her heart's already broken over him.

Time for Plan B. Go home to Mama. Work full time by day and go to grad school by night while Mama, Auntie and Cousin take turns raising the baby. Join the FBI as a profiler specializing in serial killers. Live happily ever after. Someone has been watching too much CSI while on maternity leave, methinks.

What am I doing about it? Why, I'm planning a surprise Bon Voyage party, of course! Not gonna lie to ya, there is some relief in knowing that my career as the "Voice of Reason" will soon be over.

Tomorrow....

2006-09-10T18:30:00.000+02:00

will be Monday. I will be getting an early train into town. It will be packed and I won't get a seat. Not only is that not a happy thing; I will have to suffer the outrageous fortune of having a nose that works.

Guinness farts are not nice on a Monday morning. Please adjust your lifestyle accordingly.

Thank you - The Management.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2006-09-04T21:20:00.000+02:00

Since, for whatever reason, I am totally blocked in terms of coming up with something to write about, I decided that over the weekend I would update my link list. I figured that this was a relatively easy task, especially since I've done it more than once successfully.

Apparently, even this was too difficult a chore for me this week. I hereby declare this attempt number two at deleting those who don't amuse me and adding a couple who do. I'm delighted to have Greg that Cowboy who's all jumbled (or whatever) back after his bloggery hiatus.

Why...

2006-09-01T23:10:00.002+02:00

must I be surrounded by frickin idiots??

Just askin, really ;)

And by surrounded, I don't mean you. And by idiots, I don't mean you neither.

I've seriously made a mess of this, haven't I?

Makes one wonder if not posting isn't better than posting total crap. I suppose I'll leave that up to your fine selves...

How will I know?

Conspiracy Theory

2006-08-29T22:00:00.000+02:00

There's nothing like a good conspiracy theory, in my opinion...

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you!

I've been struggling for weeks to get a post together - my monitor is most uncooperative, my connection keeps losing itself in 0s and 1s and I have travelled the width and breadth of this country in the past week. Not that it's a big place, but they sure did make it awkward to get around!

And now that I'm here, I can't think of much worth saying.

Egads!

Count me In

2006-08-13T13:23:00.000+02:00

So, I think I've managed to switch to statscounter. Thanks JL and Monty. I've decided to start from zero and just see what happens.

In a Nutshell...

2006-08-10T00:10:00.000+02:00

My life wouldn't appear all that exciting...

however;

a 30 year old woman we know(and care about) is trying to raise her twelve week old baby on her own. Her big parenting skill is apparently her ability to watch "Lost" while ignoring the baby. We are not impressed. Since we learned that the wee one is not meeting her developmental miletones, I am freaking the fuck out. It makes my breasts ache (impressive, I know!) Apparently I am the one in the wrong here. I don't fucking think so. Nor am I going to let this one lie...

my "work" computer is doing strange things. Like acting as if it has a virus even though the very professional, paid for, virus scanner says otherwise. This leads me to shit my pants in the fear that I may soon be "dooced". I still like my job and don't blog from work, but I do read this and other blogs occasionally. No more - jaysis, I'm so paranoid, I might as well be high...

Time Flies

2006-07-30T17:10:00.000+02:00

I remember feeling smug and rolling my eyes when people older than myself said things like, "I just don't know where the time goes."

I'd like to now go on record as saying I am sorry for that. Mostly because it's Sunday and the last time I checked it was Tuesday or something. I don't consider myself an old person, in fact, I'm not yet forty. Of course, when I was young forty was ancient. I remember sitting in grade ten english calculating how old I'd be in the year 2000 and wondering if I'd ever really get that old. I couldn't imagine it, but I could imagine dying before I'd attained the ripe old age of 33. Sorry Mister Barclay, now you know what I was doing instead of applying myself.

Now that I realize that forty is when life begins,I'm actually looking forward to it. I have just over a year to get ready for the start of my life. I'd like to mark the occasion in some way. I'd like to set a challenge for myself - something more than drinking myself into a stupor; I'm well able to do that. I'm open to suggestions, in fact, I'm highly suggestible so please generate some ideas for me. Quickly, before any more time slips away...

Fear and Loathing In Dublin Airport

2006-07-25T21:11:00.000+02:00

It took about two hours for the police to decide that the copy of the Koran sitting atop a suitcase that was left by an unwitting passenger was not, in fact a bomb.

We then proceeded in an orderly fashion back into the airport where we did the old guy shuffle with hoards of other travellers for another hour or so to get to our boarding gate. The most entertaining diversion was watching the mass of arriving passengers try to make their way through customs and to the arrivals hall. Good times.

Once at our gate, things seemed to progress fairly quickly. Soon we were invited to get on a bus that would take us to our plane. As is the way with most travel situations we were rushed onto the bus and then made to wait for an eternity. Unfortunately, we were joined by two of the drunkest scumbags I've ever encountered. After they had established that they were, in fact, from Finglas and had been in a pub since 7am, and said fuck as loudly and as often as humanly possible, it was time to head for the plane. Charmed.

As we disembarked the bus, hubby stopped in his tracks. He looked at the plane and then turned back to look at the bus. Sure enough, the bus was bigger. With confidence I didn't feel, I chastised him for being silly, assured them all we'd be perfectly safe and followed the kids who were up the stairs and nearly on board at that stage. As we entered the plane, the air hostess suggested that since the flight wasn't full we should spread out to distribute our weight more evenly across the plane. I thought poor hubby was going to faint.

We stowed our hand luggage in the overhead compartment, sat down, fastened our seatbelts and had just settled in for a bit more waiting when the Captain addressed us over the intercom. He said that we had lost a couple of passengers due to the evacuation and he was going to give them a few more minutes before we embarked on our journey. Fair enough.

Moments later I get the mind meld from hubby, "look out my window", he communicates telepathically. I do. Two squad cars have parked beside our plane. The hostess approaches the drunk guys, who at this point have become quite passive, and asks them both for a word. They comply and before we know it, small drunk guy is being handcuffed and placed in one of the squad cars and big drunk guy is being asked if he still wants to travel or if he'd prefer to get off the plane now. Big guy decides to stay on the plane, but changes seats (probably so that nobody will recognize him from 20 seconds ago) and before we know it, we're taxiing down the runway.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, except for a little turbulence and the extortionate price of a tiny can of pop. There was a small bauble in Cardiff Airport when they weren't sure they'd let the kids and me into the country without a visa in our passports. Then, I couldn't find my driver's licence for the car rental. And then we drove a few laps around the parking lot before hubby got his bearings and we were on our way!

Hit me

2006-07-20T15:37:00.000+02:00

Someone or something has wiped out my hit counter for the second time. If anyone has any advice for me about a better one, please let me know.

Gentlemen, Start Your Engines!

2006-07-20T08:35:00.000+02:00

So we got to Dublin airport on Friday morning and everything was going rather smoothly. We decided to go through security and have a little look around the shops before we boarded. We lined up behind a group who claimed to be the Scottish Female Drinking Team... they smelled great!

Just as we approached the security area, the officer stepped in front of the group and announced that there had been a threat to security and asked us to please make our way slowly and calmly to the front door area.

The airport was evacuated in quite a civlised fashion; the bomb squad came and we were delayed by a mere two hours. And we're off!

Bah Humbug

2006-07-06T23:39:00.000+02:00

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

unfortunately, I'm not particularly thrilled about where I'm going. Hubby's cousin is getting married on Saturday. She lives in hubby's hometown; a market town in west Wales where he hasn't lived in 30 years but still considers home.

If you've been reading a while, you'll remember that we spent all our time and money last year going to family weddings in Canada.

I am trying to be grateful that we have the resources and energy to go anywhere at all.

My Favourite Mistake...

2006-07-04T23:22:00.000+02:00

God, I feel like hell tonight
Tears of rage I cannot fight
I’d be the last to help you understand
Are you strong enough to be my man?

Nothing’s true and nothing’s right
So let me be alone tonight
Cause you can’t change the way I am
Are you strong enough to be my man?

Lie to me
I promise I’ll believe
Lie to me
But please don’t leave

I have a face I cannot show
I make the rules up as I go
It’s try and love me if you can
Are you strong enough to be my man?

When I’ve shown you that I just don’t care
When I’m throwing punches in the air
When I’m broken down and I can’t stand
Will you be strong enough to be my man?

Lie to me
I promise I’ll believe
Lie to me
But please don’t leave
-Sheryl Crow

I've amde a lot of em (get it?)... but you're still my fave!

Oh Canada

2006-07-01T17:30:00.000+02:00

our home and native land...

There is much excitement here at chez nous. We are getting ready for our annual Canada Day Barbeque Bash. Hubby's mom sent loads of decorations and the neighbourhood children helped ours to hang them in the tackiest ways possible. The house is clean and full of food and drink. The weather is glorious.

The party kicks off in 90 minutes (that's five pee em local time). Be here!

Proud Mama

2006-06-25T18:31:00.000+02:00

Report cards are in; it's official. Not only are our children geniuses, they are kind, considerate, influential young people. Not anything we didn't already know, but still enough to make a chest swell if you know what I mean.

This is where we went to celebrate. Those people have their own kinda genius going on.

Longest Day of the Year...

2006-06-22T00:40:00.000+02:00

but not of my life!

Happy Solstice.

I hope you had an amazing day.

I worked and then met my family to celebrate great report cards and belated fathers' day. I didn't talk about the solstice a lot but it was in my heart all day.

I heard through my new coworker that her dear friend was "doing" the solstice and was much inspired to hear about LMWs(like-minded women). I've never met this woman, but was happy to make her acquaintance; if you know what I mean.

Overall, I'm happy with the way the day was spent (by me, anyway). Hope you are too.

All good things,

*love* me. (interpret that as you will)

Fuck a Big Bunch of Alarm Clocks

2006-06-20T21:50:00.000+02:00

Y'know what? I've had enough of this shit. Why, oh why, do we participate in these hurtful constructs such as "time"? I cannot for the life of me understand why work can't start exactly when WHEN I GET THERE and finish WHEN I'M GODDAMNED GOOD AND READY!

What, is the problem with that exactly? It worked for the caveman, didn't it? They slept and ate when their bodies told em too. Got pregnant then too. Nobody judged because nobody cared. People just got on with getting on with it. If they survived, so be it; if not that was fair enough too. If someone became a burden, they either wandered off to meet their maker/consumer and thus completed the circle of life, or, if they had no sense of honour or dignity, they were ostracized by the group. Banned, even.

When I am Minister for Families and Children things are gonna change around here, I tells ya!

A Smell to Remember

2006-06-18T13:33:00.000+02:00

I was lucky this morning and had coffee delivered to my bedside. There is something about the smells and sensations of fresh air and coffee in the morning that trigger my camping gene. I've been a camper my whole life. I love life outdoors.

Of course, I love it on my terms. I've totally outgrown the desire to test my survival skills in any way. I'm happy enough to set up tents and put campstoves together; to chop wood and light fires but I want to be clean and comfortable and have everything I need within reach.

For me, camping is more than just one way to spend a vacation. It's about letting go of the clock and living on our own terms. Eating when we're hungry, sleeping when we're tired, swimming, reading and playing when the mood strikes us. Wearing as few or as many clothes as feels comfortable and not worrying about whether they match. Watching the sunrise and the sunset and counting the stars in the night sky. Toasting marshmallows in the campfire. Ensuring the kids are asleep and sneaking off to make love in the night air...

I think it's about time to book a camping trip. Amazing what a cup of coffee can do, isn't it?

A Week if You Treat it, Seven Days if You Don't my ASS!

2006-06-15T15:54:00.000+02:00

Six weeks into the new job and I'm off sick. It's a frustrating situation because I really like my new job and would rather be at the office doing it. Having said that, I think it's only fair to my colleagues that I stay away until I get this elephant removed from my chest. Every time it sits down, I hoark a lung across the room. Not pretty ever, but particularly ugly in an open plan office setting!

I spent the first ten days trying to manage on my own, but clearly, that's not working for me. Being the kind of girl who isn't too proud to ask for help, I made an appointment with my doctor for this evening. Hopefully she'll have something that'll keep my lungs on the inside of my body; at least while I'm at work.

For those of you keeping score at home, I've lost 19lbs in three weeks. This inspires me to keep it going. Although I have a long way to go to reach my goal weight, I'm starting to feel like myself again. That's good news for everyone, particularly hubby!

Which leads me to ask the question, is sex for connecting or escaping? Both? None of the above? I'm interested in what people have to say about this... my own theory sits firmly on the fence. Speaking of which, I noticed recently that I have a seriously regular reader that never comments. Obviously, I'm not a comment whore, or I'd have stopped blogging a long time ago. Whoever you are, thanks for reading; I take comfort in the fact that you keep coming back.

Ireland is Bi-Polar

2006-06-09T21:23:00.000+02:00

It has been sunny here for some six days in a row. The difference in the Irish colletive conscience when the weather is cooperating is just incredible. Everyone is happier, everyone is nicer and everyone is eating ice cream (except me, of course).

I was actually starting to feel a little uncomfortable with all the manic joy surrounding me until I was on the train home from work this evening and the woman beside me complained loudly for the entire journey that she was too hot. As strange as it may sound, I was actually comforted by the hearing a complaint. Having said that, if it rains tomorrow, I am gonna hunt her down!

It's amazing how much information you can glean about someone when you sit on a train beside them for a few minutes. Crossword and suduko done, I ran out of ways to amuse myself and couldn't help but overhear. I learned her name, the town she lives in and that she's planning an intimate wedding that most of her family is not invited to; which, by the way, they don't know yet. I was also able to trace her accent to within a 3 mile radius.

I managed to get off the train before I learned anything more. As I walked by the pub, I nearly stepped in what used to be the contents of someone's stomach. Ah, yes, the sweet smells of a sunny Friday in the Beer Garden. An Irish summer indeed...

Blogger, why do you do these things to me?

2006-06-08T08:22:00.000+02:00

So, last night for the first time in forever, I had a few minutes to myself and an idea for a post.

Blogger, however, had other ideas. Now, I've read about the frustrations of other bloggers, but until yesterday I really didn't get it. I so get it. From now on, I am going to be the most empathetic commenter on blogs written about Blogger frustration EVER!

I also learned that there is some part of my psyche that doesn't do compromise in certain areas. I know this because, although I've been married some 13 years (which is really just an incredibly long series of compromises) I had a near physical reaction to the suggestion that I write my entry on wordpad and post it another time. Saddest part? The suggestion was internal.

In other news, I've lost 14lbs so far and am inspired to keep going; it appears as though the babysitter took my favourite silver bracelet when she disappeared and I have not one but two giant cold sores - very Angelina.

2006-06-04T13:02:00.000+02:00

Other than this incredible hangover, all is well.

I did not for a single moment believe that hubby impregnated the babysitter. I do believe that message could have ruined the lives of many couples, though.

I also think it's entirely possible that there is some truth to the story.
Edit: I think she may have had an affair with someone else's husband.

And now I must retire to the couch and nurse my sore head.

2006-05-31T08:41:00.000+02:00

Evidently, I misunderstood the text I received yesterday... she's not going to have the baby, she's going to have it unmade.

By the way, I did the math. Not possible.

2006-05-30T08:26:00.000+02:00

Nine pounds. In six days. I am delighted and totally determined to keep it going.

In other news, when I woke this morning there was a text message waiting for me. It was from my 19 year old babysitter's phone saying that she's moved back to her home country to have my husband's baby. She was sorry I had to find out this way, but it just wasn't fair for her or her life...

All By Myself

2006-05-26T21:30:00.000+02:00

So, I started this diet thing with two women from work thinking that a group would provide moral support. On Day Two, I got to work to find out that one of the girls had caved and given up. She was less than 24 hours into it. The other girl didn't start until Thursday after her business trip.

Today is Day Four for me. On the way home on the train I called my remaining diet buddy to offer her support over the weekend; she couldn't talk for long because she was busy eating a slice of bread. Great.

This is without a doubt the most difficult diet I have ever done. And I've done some dieting...

Anyway, right now I'm okay although not exactly euphoric. Apparently that will happen. I'm guessing it'll come at the moment when my death-breath actually kills someone.

I am giving it until Monday when I go get weighed. If I have not lost a significant amount of weight; I'm talking Biggest Loser type weight loss here, I am jumping off the scales and heading straight for Burger King where I'm going to pull the buns from two bacon double cheeseburgers and start Atkins.

In the meantime, when I want to eat, I'll just look in the mirror for inspiration.

Desperate Times

2006-05-24T08:36:00.000+02:00

... call for desperate measures. I have finally found the determination to deal with my weight. I won't tell you what I'm doing because I don't want to hear all the reasons why I shouldn't do it. I know more about diet and nutrition than many professionals. The truth is, I'm an all or nothing kinda girl. And I know this will work. So I'm going for it.

Today is Day Two. All support gratefully accepted. And, if you're nice to me, I might even show you the results.

Edit: Nice rememberer Brian... I did post about Dead Susan before! She was Wee Susan then, but we must move with the times.

Small World

2006-05-20T14:59:00.000+02:00

Our wee Scottish friend, Dead Susan went to Paris recently. While she was there, she threw on her Dublin jersey and went on the hunt for a good place to watch the football match. After a short search, she and her friend made their way in to a rather empty Australian bar and found a table with a great view of the big screen TV. Susan then offered to get the first round and headed for the bar.

Being a lover of all things Canadian (present company included) Susan was delighted to find that they were serving Molson products. She happily ordered a pint for herself and a black coffee for her friend. After a rather long discussion about whether the glass of ice she asked for was meant for the coffee or the beer, the bartender suggested she sit down and he'd have the drinks delivered to her table.

A few minutes later, an Australian waiter arrived with the drinks and Susan paid him. Obviously intrigued, he struck up a conversation,"So, you like Canadian beer?"

"Yeah," Susan replied, "I love most things Canadian."

"Me too, haven't been there yet, though. So you're not Irish then?"

"No, actually I'm Scottish."

"Right, I thought that's what your accent was...so why the Dublin jersey?"

"I'm living in Dublin just now."

"Cool! I was just there visiting my best friend. He's over there working with homeless kids. We stayed with him when we were there; he lives on one of the Quays right in town."

At this point, Susan remembered covering a shift for a colleague who had a friend coming to stay. After a small argument in her head she said, "Um, his name wouldn't be Patrick by any chance?"

"Too right! Hang on! How could you know that???" he asked, astonished.

"I work with an Aussie named Patrick who lives on Wellington Quay. Small world, eh?"

Indeed.

And on the Eighth Day...

2006-05-10T22:31:00.001+02:00

she tried to catch her breath and take stock.

In the last eight days I have learned:

1. No matter what time I go to bed, 6am is too early. Unless I'm at a party, in which case it's actually quite late and I should go home.

2. Dublin 4 looks a lot like Ottawa, which should probably make me homesick but doesn't.

3. My cubicle is not a cubicle, it is a pod. Beam me up Scotty.

4. That your office is in an upscale neighbourhood and full of well-heeled professionals does not protect you from the theiving bastards who steal lunches from the communal fridge. Or ants in the lunchroom.

5. My kids won't die if I miss a school assembly. If it scars them for life, I can now afford to contribute to their therapy. In the meantime, I can assuage my guilt by purchasing their artwork from the school.

6. The week you start a new job in an environment you've never experienced before and begin commuting to unfamiliar territory is probably not the best time to agree to coordinate a superfluous event. With a committee. Of volunteers.

7. My accent is attractive to the Irish ear, even when they can see me.

8. Ireland is not the only beer-obsessed nation. See?

Welcome Aboard...

2006-05-04T23:03:00.000+02:00

and let me show you to your very own cubicle! Here is your key card, also known as a fob; you must swipe it to enter all rooms except the bathroom. Big Brother is watching your every move and Big Sister will be reading your emails. Welcome to mainstream corporate culture, please leave your personality at the door.

This is your apparently unlimited budget and here is your full time administrative assistant. You have access to company vehicles, IT assistance and a bloke who will carry your boxes and set up rooms to your specs; just email someone in advance and it will all happen like magic. Do not break your back or a nail. Your job is to think on higher levels.

Holy shit folks, I think I may have died and gone to that special place called adulthood. Everything's a trade-off isn't it? At this point, I'm thinking there is a big lesson here for me... when I figure out what it is, I'll letcha know!

For The Record...

2006-04-29T18:01:00.000+02:00

when I suggest we take advantage of having one child away for the day and go do something with the other; walking the three miles to the beach or walking the three miles to the park to go for a walk does not exactly make me tingle with delight.

I know I need to exercise more but you are not motivating anyone with your passive aggressive attempts to force my hand. Legs. Whatever.

And no, I don't feel better now that we've done it. I probably would, but I'm too damned resentful.

That is all.

Shopping as it Should Be

2006-04-27T12:16:00.000+02:00

As with many small villages, the local shop is the hub of our little community. If you pay attention, every day you'll see business deals being made and broken; affairs of the heart beginning and ending and have a chance to throw a vague nod in the general direction of the local movie star who you never quite recognize because he always looks like he just rolled out of bed. Due to the limited size of the place, there is also the blink and you'll miss it element to actually finding what you want to buy, so it's critically important that you move slowly. If you get behind someone in an aisle, store (community) etiquette (space restriction) demands that you stay behind them until you reach the end where there is a bit more space to manoeuver around them.

Monday morning I went to said store to get a few things. I generally do most of my shopping online and have it delivered, but I end up at the shop most days to pick up essentials like bread and milk and the occasional bottle of wine. This particular morning saw me needing a good few things as the online shopping centre had a malfunction on the weekend and I didn't end up getting my delivery until Monday evening.

Now for those of you who aren't Irish, Sunday is a big drinking day here... when I entered the store, I found myself following a man just a little older than my good self. He was a rather attractive fellow with expensive casual clothes and a well groomed salt and peppery beard.

I was just thanking the universe that I wasn't caught behind Mad Mary who is not only crazy but also has the worst body odour ever, when Mister BT2 let rip this almighty fart. I paused to see how polite society deals with such a thing, but apparently they just pretend it hasn't happened. So Mister Usedtobeattractive stopped to consider which loaf of overpriced bread to buy, which meant that I was stuck standing behind him. Not a bad view, really; all things considered.

And then it hit. Now, if you've ever smelled a Guinness fart, you'll know immediately what I am talking about. If you haven't, count your blessings. It's somewhere in the range of boiled eggs and rotten garbage with a little pulp factory thrown in for good measure. And, trust me on this one, a Guinness fart doesn't linger; it sets up house.

It was at this moment that I decided to breach protocol. I scooted out into the oncoming lane and got around him. As I passed he looked at me as if I was the rudest creature on the planet, so I shrugged and said, "Dude, you couldn't possibly expect anyone to stand in that" And off I went.

Once out of the range of yer man's personal pong, I dried the tears from my eyes then, meandered around watching for what might happen next and making up what I couldn't manage to piece together. I managed to drop the requisite thirty euro and even got the few bits and pieces that I went there for in the first place.

12:12

2006-04-19T16:00:00.000+02:00

Once upon a time I was a residential care worker in a facility for disturbed youth. I was very young and very serious; determined to do well in a place that ate staff up and spit them out.

At the time, I had been working there for about a year, long enough to be considered senior staff, but not quite long enough to be promoted to management. We worked in partners, one male, one female for the most part, with a floating third person on the shift. The organization was having a growth spurt which meant that all of my good partners were being promoted and moved laterally faster than I could keep up with the changes. The bad ones were dropping like flies as well. I started to worry about my deodorant.

And then came Bruce. Bruce was stability incarnate. He was experienced in the field, happily married and an all around stand up guy. Best of all, Bruce had a sense of humour.

As with all group living situations, the client group was mirroring the staff group. The crazier things got with the restructure, the crazier the kids got. And that my friends, was not a pretty thing.

One night, very early on in our partnership, Bruce confessed to me that he thought that a lot of the behaviours we were dealing with could be avoided by utilizing the simple but effective frontal lobotomy. I agreed to try it but only if I were allowed to perform the procedure myself - with a spoon. We laughed maniacally and then noted the time. It was twelve twelve. We agreed that at lunch the next day, we would launch a mass lobotomizing session.

Sure enough, the next day was as torturous as the last. Lunch was served at twelve sharp. Soup and sandwiches were on the menu. At exactly twelve twelve, I gripped my spoon and turned to face Bruce. He raised his spoon in salute. Our relationship was cemented.

Bruce only lasted eight shifts in that hell hole but every time I see a clock that says 12:12, I am reminded of him. So I guess it's not surprising that today, at 12:12, as I was being offered the job at Internationally Known Charity I thought of Bruce.

Wuh_freakin_hoo! I start on the second of May! Thanks to all who crossed something on my behalf - your work here is done.

Yoda Speaks

2006-04-19T00:13:00.000+02:00

If my life was a movie, you'd have turned it off by now! Who goes through this kinda suspense without being paid guild rates. Fuckin hell!

Anyway, the bad news is that there has been a delay in getting one of my references. If you've ever worked for a government you won't be surprised to learn that my line manager is unable to give a reference independently. Not only must he do it in writing; it must be approved by a senior manager (read legal department) before it goes out. And they wonder why they can't get anything done around there!

The good news is that the two they did manage to get were very good. Evidently, my boss from home wants me back - Thanks Lynn! You know that if we come home, you are the first person I am going to call. Actually, I'm gonna call you long before I get there, but I digress.

Bottom line is, I'm still in the running. Posted, I will keep you!

Cliffhanger

2006-04-14T20:40:00.000+02:00

I received a message on my phone last evening. It was the HR manager of Internationally Known Charity calling to say she'd been unable to reach my third referee and therefore wouldn't be able to make a decision about whether I'll be hired until Tuesday at the earliest.

I'd be stressed out and upset, but I can't help but think this means I'm still in the running.

In other news, Galway was a great time! LOVED it! Especially our day trip to Inis Mor where were got sunburns while sitting in a beer garden drinking Guinness and watching our kids play happily on the beach below.

Into the Wesht

2006-04-10T20:53:00.000+02:00

So, the second interview was had. The references were requested. The appropriate people have been given the ole heads up. Evidently, I have one competitor; while I can't imagine anyone being a better match than me, I am soooooooo not counting my chickens. Having said that, I'd love it if someone took it upon themselves to do me a favour and Tonya Harding'd her ass! They promised to put me out of my misery by Thursday.

In what I had hoped would be a celebration and now appears to be a distraction, we're going to Galway for a few days. We've never been and are looking forward to not only the break, but also the bohemia we're promised exists there. All tips of the touristy persuasion will be gratefully accepted.

P.S. We've done Clare and Bunratty and are hoping to focus on the Arran Islands and Galway itself...

All Hail...

2006-04-09T21:02:00.000+02:00

the hail?

This is the first time I can honestly say that I am sick to death of Irish weather. I dunno if that's due to assimilation, global warming or what the fuck, but I am some tired of experiencing "all four seasons in a day". Pick one, goddammit! Today it was sunny, snowy and it hailed like mad. Only not long enough for a decent picture.

I'm not having the best of weekends to tell you the truth. Friday night was my leaving do from my last job. One of the women decided it was a good idea to leave her partner and two kids at home and have her ex-boyfriend from fifteen years ago come along and stick his hand up her dress. I disagreed. Not the best way to leave things with a coworker...

Then yesterday, the one who threw herself in front of a train decided that it was high time we spent some time together and showed up at my front door. She was discharged from hospital last week, a mere five weeks after crushing her pelvis, breaking her hip, collarbone and several ribs, having a finger amputated and puncturing a lung. Hubby ran her off the first time, but she was not to be deterred and came back. From what I could gather, she wanted me to support her bid to take her child halfway around the world to live. I don't fucking think so.

In the meantime, pregnantgirl's mom rang me from the states to say that prego wasn't answering the phone and she was worried and could I do something, so I got to spend the whole day making sure, she wasn't chucking herself in front of a train... fucksake!

So far, today has been much better... I went for a swim with a sane friend and the kids and then girlchild and I went shopping for the afternoon while hubby and the boy hung out at home. We met them at the pub for dinner and the match(I think ManU beat Arsenal but I really don't care).

In other news, cross something, pray, or do whatever it is that you do to send positive energy to someone who has a second interview for a job, cause tomorrow at 4:15gmt, I am meeting with the CEO of Internationally Known Charity to discuss the possibility of us having a future together.

I could really use a break right about now.

I've Still Got It!

2006-04-03T19:16:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, the girl was invited to Disney on Ice with her two best friends. As a consolation prize (read: because we're trying to ruin his social life completely) we took the boy for dinner at our local pub.

After we ate, I excused myself and went to the loo where, among other things, I repaired my lipstick and checked my teeth to ensure I wasn't carrying any leftovers. On my way back, a stunningly fit young man held the door for me. When I got back to the table, I commented that it was both unusual and appreciated.

The boy waited a beat and then said, "Well Mam, you've still got a little magic left in ya!"

Change is Afoot

2006-04-02T16:14:00.000+02:00

I seem to have misplaced something... my sense of self. I have lost all track of who the hell I am. I don't know when, how or why it's happened, all I know is that I have woken up to the fact that it did. Now I have to come to terms with that and make the necessary changes.

I have spent most of my life not living up to my potential. Classic underachiever; there are several holes in my proverbial foot. I tend to go blank right before the trigger is pulled. I'm very good at the post mortem. I can come up with all sorts of reasons why I didn't want to do that anyway. How's that for being a control freak - post event control grabber. Heh, maybe I should consider a career spinning for politicians.

There are three jobs that are mine for the winning this week. Here's to being articulate enough to say what I need to get across and controlled enough to not blurt!

Bloody Sunday

2006-03-26T23:50:00.000+02:00

It's Mothering Sunday here...

I've had pictures and cards, wine, plenty of beer and a take-away.

My Dad turned seventy today

I called him; he's having a barbeque, not a buffet.

I really wish it would stop raining and warm up

That doesn't rhyme, but what the fuck...

Ah Sure, Ya Know Yerself...

2006-03-18T19:05:00.000+01:00

Being an expat is probably never easy. Being one in Ireland, when you're Canadian of Irish descent is, to say the least, interesting. There are things that Irish people accept as a matter of course that Canadians just would not tolerate (and really make my eye twitch). Let me give you a few examples...

My friend recently ordered a new bunkbed set for her child. Yesterday, her husband was (finally) in the mood to assemble it. When he got it almost completely assembled, he found that the safety bar AND the safety rail were missing. They expect to spend the next six weeks chasing the furniture store. Their child won't be allowed to use the top bunk until the safety gear is in place.

Recently, my mother sent a gift of money for our children. She'd gone to the trouble to have her money order made out in Euros so the kids wouldn't have to pay the exchange. Being very near a Canadian Military Base (and nothing else) my mother's bank buys its Euros from Germany. When I took the money orders to the Allied Irish Bank, they charged me a fifteen percent fee for exchanging "foreign" euros.

Women cannot access safe, legal abortions in this country. Women who choose to terminate a pregnancy have to go to the UK to do so. Before air travel was accessible to the masses, women went by ferry to England. It was so commonplace here, that one way to tell someone to fuck off is to say, "get the boat!" This was, apparently, the common response of a Dublin man not willing to shoulder his share of the burden when advised of an accidental pregnancy.

We'd been here about six months when I realized that I had to get out of the job I was in or go mad. I went to the local FAS office, which I thought was like the Canada Employment Centre. I was advised that nobody would speak to me until I'd registered. So, I filled out the forms and waited for a Counsellor to be available. Three hours later, I was sitting across the desk from this aul fella who told me that I was overqualified for anything they could offer me; so sorry; goodbye and good luck. A year later, I received a letter from the same office advising me that they thought they'd found something I might be interested in. It was the exact job I was trying to leave.

The other day we went on an outing with the clients from work. Due to the lifeskills nature of the trip, we took public transport. We had to catch a bus to the nearest town and then another to Dublin. When the connecting bus was an hour late, I took out my mobile to call the customer service number advertised at the bus stop to enquire what the problem was and when we might expect a bus. I was stopped by my colleague because she feared if we complained, the driver would retaliate by not coming at all. The clients agreed that this was the most likely scenario; I didn't call.

Now that Ireland has the wherewithal to do so, thanks the huge infusion of money from the EU, its expected to host refugees and other immigrant-type people. When you consider the number of Irish people who emigrated to other lands to make a better life for themselves and the racism they had to deal with, the begrudgery that some heap upon newcomers is more than just a little shocking.

The planners of the city of Dublin decided to create a tram system. They put in two lines, that don't connect. Then, they spent a year digging up the main street of the city, ripping down 130 year old trees in a bid to modernize it make it more tourist friendly. They got it almost finished and decided last week, that they need to redig the whole thing up in order to connect the two tram lines.

There are many things that used to rock my world that I don't even notice anymore... for example, we pay about $3.40CAD for a can of pop in a pub. Our children's free primary school education costs us a mandatory $500.00CAD per year,(not including what we contribute to the school's five annual fundraisers). Kids go to school from 9:15 to 2:25pm. The school tells us that happens 180 times per year, but we strongly suspect that number is exaggerated. Our house does not have such a thing as a thermostat to control the central heating system.

As a "blow in" I'm not always entitled to voice my frustrations. When I do, however, I often hear the very wise words, "Ah sure, ya know yerself"... and then I have a drink.

The Sting of Rejection

2006-03-12T16:54:00.000+01:00

There was a time when I thought I'd like to be a professional actor. While I'm pretty good at acting like I know what I'm doing and acting as though I give a shit most of the time, I'm more than a little bad at receiving rejection.

I had an interview for a job last Friday. It wasn't a job I particularly wanted, however, I am now four weeks away from being unemployed so every job is something I am burning to do and this one was the only one out of about half a dozen applications that had shortlisted me for interview.

The interview process itself was somewhat gruelling. First there was a group interview which started off with all the candidates, the interview panel, four members of staff and a partridge in a pear tree sitting in a circle and playing word association memory games so that we could all feel less, I mean, more comfortable with one another. We were asked several questions about large issues and then scored on our answers and the way in which we affected the group dynamic. The rest of the day included a written test and an individual interview. I left feeling confident that while I may not get the job, I'd done my best and hadn't let myself down.

This feeling lasted through the weekend and well into Monday. Tuesday, I was still okay, felt pretty confident that it was too soon for a decision to have been made. By Wednesday evening I had decided I didn't get the job. Thursday afternoon this was confirmed.

Immediately, my cheeks were on fire with the shame of it. (The shame of what, exactly?) Somehow, I went from feeling that I'd done my best and que sera sera to rewriting every moment of the day and casting myself as a loud, obnoxious, overconfident, underskilled buffoon. My rational self knows that this isn't true but my irrational self has gone over it and over it making it worse each time and chipping away at my self-esteem.

And after months of eating well and losing weight, I find myself slipping into old patterns of self-comfort which are all about eating and sleeping whether I need to or not.

This sucks. And it's not even close to being over yet.

Drunken Blogging...

2006-03-10T01:16:00.000+01:00

is a bad idea. I've just deleted the steaming pile of crap I left here last night. I'd very much appreciate it if you did the same in your comments.

IWD (again!)

2006-03-08T19:11:00.000+01:00

Today is International Women's Day. This year, for the first time ever, I got something...

AN UNBEFUCKINGLIEVABLE HEADACHE!

It's one of those really fun tension headaches. The kind that come from having shoulder muscles so tense that my neck cracks every time I turn my head. It's like going to the chiropractor without the expense, or the relief. Okay, maybe not so much. I need drugs; the alcohol and caffeine combination isn't working for me.

Anyway, today women all over the world are celebrating their female-ness and I plan to join them. I'm not going to attend a rally or march this year though. This year, I'm going to the pool where I'll celebrate buoyancy as I perform aerobic feats impossible for me on dry land. Not the most feminist thing I've ever done for IWD but hey, maybe I won't bother to shave my legs first.

Speaking of buoyance, both of the women from my last post are doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. So am I.

So whether you are a woman or just play one on TV, happy day to you!

A Weak Week

2006-03-04T15:59:00.000+01:00

I have had one motherfucker of a week.

Having said that, I'm sure it was worse for the two women I know well who tried to kill themselves.

One is a client; the other a woman that I considered a good friend until a few months ago when her mental illness got in the way of our relationship. Both have lots of support and all the appropriate services in place. Both women survived this time; one because she wanted to, the other was just (un)lucky, I guess.

I planned to pour my heart out here... but I'm too tired to even determine what's inside me let alone regurgitate it at this point.

Going Dutch

2006-02-25T19:22:00.000+01:00

The scene: It's a weekend morning, the whole family is in the living room. Kids are watching cartoons, Dad is reading the paper, Mom is checking her email. All are wearing pyjamas of some description, coffee and tea are prominent.

Girl: Will I teach you how to speak Dutch?

Boy: Go on then!

Girl: Okay - we'll start with "no". Say, "nae".
Boy: That's easy; nae!

Girl: Well done. Now, I'm going to teach you how to say yes. Repeat after me... Imanasshole.

Boy: I'm an asshole. MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Parents: Fall off their chairs laughing.

True story. Girlchild is the coolest seven year old ever!

Sunday Morning Coming Down

2006-02-19T13:54:00.000+01:00

Sometime around 1973, a friend of my Dad's who worked at the local radio station made him a huge reel to reel tape of all the easy listening hits of the time. Most of it was country music.

My parents played that tape every Sunday morning for several hundred years. When I was a little girl, I loved it; the catchy tunes and pretty lyrics really moved me. My Dad was in the military and we were relocated every four years or so, but without fail, the "Sunday Morning Music", as it came to be known, moved with us.

As we got a bit older, my brother and I became less enamoured with the music but we didn't complain too loudly; I think on some level we were comforted by the familiarity of the songs. I imagine it's similar to how some people feel about attending mass on a Sunday.

I remember sharing with my boyfriend who was a hard rock fan, the history and importance of Sunday Morning Music to our family. I told him that it didn't matter how drunk we'd been the night before or how hungover we were at the time, Sunday Morning Music was cranked and we were expected to get up and join the family for brunch. While he liked the concept, he couldn't get his head around the fact that my brother and I never tried to change the selection of music.

Recently, that old boyfriend of mine caved and in a moment of weakness ordered Sky TV. One of the consequences of having commercial television is... well, commercials. Because they are like their mother and highly suggestible, when Time/Life started advertising its new 100 country classics, our kids listened.

You can imagine my surprise and delight to hear my lil Pussycat Doll and Mister McFly belting out bits of Merle Haggard, Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynne (and many more). I was so moved that I asked for that Time/Life collection for Mother's Day. Hubby promptly sat down at the computer and fired up Limewire. He downloaded a hundred songs and made me a playlist that would rival any commercial collection.

This morning, I got up and walked down to the shops for the Sunday papers and some fresh croissants to have with our Sunday Brunch. As I type this, Crystal Gayle is asking to be called Angel of the Morning. Johnny Cash is going to Walk the Line next and then Kris Kristofferson is gonna tell me about Bobby McGee.

Thirty odd years later, Sunday Morning Music has come full circle for me.

yesterday

2006-02-11T12:11:00.000+01:00

I know I was supposed to be posting about our second day in Northern Ireland but I've had a hard week and just don't feel like it. Here's a slice of yesterday for you:

Today was a difficult day. My boss is a complete fucking idiot. It does no good to have the entire staff team and all the clients tell me how much they wish I was in her position when we all know I'm leaving in about 8 weeks. We found out at today's team meeting that she borrowed the petty cash for her vacation this week which left us with no money to do the work. I had to use my own money to buy ink for the fax machine. She'll likely get away with that. Fucking cow.

Just as I was leaving, the receptionist told me that my most fragile client came to the office looking for me while I was in a meeting. The receptionist said my woman was in the worst state she's ever seen her. And that's saying something. I got to her house to find her clutching a photo of her daughter. She shared her suicide note with me. It was beautiful and I told her so.

I then told her that she was being selfish and cruel. I told her that she is the perfect mother for her daughter and that all mothers make mistakes but that there is nobody better on this planet to raise our daughters. That everybody hurts and we can heal pain but not death. It wasn't until I shared with her that our accountant was killed in a car crash yesterday that she crumpled up the note and pulled herself together. I was only an hour late getting home.

When I got there hubby had his back firmly planted in my direction. I didn't even have the energy to ask what was the matter. In fact, I'm not sure I care.

Around 9pm there was a knock at the door. It was Serena. She's 6 months pregnant and full of drama. The daddy fucked off across the world soon after she told him they're expecting. Probably a good thing. They bring out the worst in one another.

He's now offering to support the child pending the results of a paternity test. I don't quite understand how this test will work with him in New Zealand and her in Ireland. Seems to me if she was going to lie about this child's parentage,she'd have found a man who can control his drinking (and thus his bladder function) and who actually has a job. Personally, I think she and the baby would have been much better off if he never found out. Then again, where's the drama in that?

She came to use the internet to pick out a crib for the baby. She is a complete and utter financial disaster, so when she told me she went out and bought an Adidas tracksuit and runners for the baby, my eye started to twitch. This is a woman who has deferred her student loans since 1999 because she can't afford to make a payment. Fucking Adidas gear for a newborn!

Serena did my eyebrows while she was here... not her best work I'm afraid. I am currently sporting two dark sperms over my eyes. Talk about a facial. Hopefully I can fix them before I have to go out in pubic, er public.

Da Nort, Day One

2006-02-04T12:18:00.000+01:00

Last Saturday morning a workmate of hubby's gave him a lift to the airport where he collected our rental car. He came back to pick us up and for a change, we were all ready to go. A good omen for the trip ahead.

It was a bright sunny morning and all the neighbourhood children were out to wave us off. The way they carried on, you'd think we were moving back to Canada rather than driving a mere ninety minutes for an overnight visit. Briefly, I wondered if they were just waiting for us to leave so they could hone their burglary skills. Life in Dublin has touched me in so many ways...

My cynicism faded as we hit the M1 and the Corsa that seemed so zippy and easy to handle in the village began to roar and shake under the strain of the 120km/hr speed limit and terror took over. To drown out the sounds of the car and the screams in my head, I popped in a cd that I'd cleverly brought along. Of course, that lasted all of twenty seconds until the kids insisted that we play their cds. Incidently, if you've never heard your seven year old daughter belt out the words,"Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me", it's probably better to get it out of the way before you are hurtling down the highway in a gutless tin can on the _other_ side of the road.

Having never been to Northern Ireland before, we weren't sure what to expect in terms of a border crossing. As it turned out, there wasn't one. When we passed a trailer that had a sign painted on its side offering to exchange euros to pounds and sell us fireworks, we figured we'd arrived.

With hubby's lead foot and my expert navigational skills in sync,it was smooth sailing all the way and before the kids could utter the forty ninth chorus of, "are we there yet", we were all checked in and having a refreshing beverage in the hotel's bar.

I am one of those people who can't really tell people apart. If someone looks similar in any way to someone I know, I assume it's them; I'm generally wrong. So when we had been in Belfast for all of an hour and I said, "I know that guy" and stood up to say hello, it was no surprise that hubby responded by saying, "you do not know him Anna, sit down" and the children prepared themselves for the ensuing embarrassment by hiding their faces in their hands and slouching in their seats.

For a change, I was right! Geoff was an administrator at the college where I took my massage course last year. He's American, from Ohio and we'd talked hockey a couple of times while I was paying my tuition and such. When I went over to his table, Geoff recognized me immediately and said, "Oh my God! What are you doing here??" Until that very moment, it hadn't occurred to me that he might not be there for the hockey game. He was and seemed truly amazed by the coincidence. We exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.

For us that meant out for dinner to Scalini . Great food, friendly staff and excellent service at a very reasonable price made for a happy little family! The only drawback was a lack of a non-smoking section. It's hard to taste the delicate flavours of one's meal when your nostrils are being assaulted by someone sitting a few feet away enjoying a cigarette between courses.

And then we were off to the game. The arena was fairly small - like one you'd find if you went to a junior league game in Canada which meant that the seats I thought would be mediocre turned out to be great. The game was also very much like a junior game - without the hitting. With the new rules about two line passes and pints of really nice lager to drink, the game had a much more European flavour than we were expecting. Add to the mix a pack of American-style cheerleaders (it used to be an insult to be called a puck bunny), sponsored everything (the ref was sponsored by spec savers!) and it was like no hockey game we'd ever seen before.

Belfast won 6-4 but to give Basingstoke credit where it's due, they played the better game. Considering that the Giants lead the league and Basingstoke owns the basement, the actual game was more than a bit of a surprise in that the Bison led for nearly 55 minutes of the 60 minute game and twice were up by three goals.

After the game, we grabbed a taxi and headed back to the hotel. On the way, we all agreed that it was great to see Theo Fleury play and we all enjoyed his enthusiasm with the crowd, but it was players like Captain George Awada and playing Coach Ed Courtenay that made us all want to see another game.

As soon as we walked through the door of the hotel, boychild's gameboy mated with that of another boychild so we ended up hanging out in the lobby and having a couple of drinks from the bar while the kids played nicely, even including the girl without being threatened - er, reminded.

When we got to the room, hubby turned on the tv and I promptly fell asleep. Consequently, I missed boychild's appreciation of all the excitement and junk food he'd had which he expressed by puking all over the bathroom.

We sure know how to fill a day!

Giants

2006-01-28T12:21:00.000+01:00

In a few minutes we're off to Belfast to see our first hockey game on this side of the pond. The Giants are taking on Basingstoke. It doesn't look like it's going to be as much a game as an ass kicking; then again, there's nothing wrong with a decent ass kicking disguised as a hockey game.

In booking the hotel, I managed to avoid the Europa which has the dubious honour of being Europe's most often bombed hotel. Don't ask me how I did that, it's completely unlike me.

A restaurant has been recommended to us by someone who claims to have IRA connections. Since he's completely full of shit about everything except good food, we made a reservation.

Hubby has worked night shift for the past four weekends in a row. We haven't slept away from home since we went to Canada in August. The kids are coming and will be sharing our hotel room, so there's no hope of anything of the adult persuasion.

Before we come home tomorrow, we'll visit the Giant's Causeway weather permitting. If the weather doesn't cooperate, we'll head for Enniskillen and have lunch in a pub.

On a Lighter Note

2006-01-20T22:12:00.000+01:00

Today I read Armaedes' 100th post. Congratulations are in order as it's amazing that he's lived this long considering his fondness for offending everybody.

When I realized two minutes ago that I'm home alone and now would be a good time to try and blog something, I was surprised to find that this would be my one hundredth post.

Since I took at least some of Armaedes' advice to heart and resolved to refrain from posting about my boring life or sharing the results of my latest personality test, I've decided to share something which made me laugh out loud today. This came courtesy of my Scottish pal, wee Susan:

Angus walks into his bedroom with a sheep under his arm and says: "Darling,
this is the pig I have sex with when you have a headache."

His wife is lying in bed and replies: "I think you'll find that's a sheep,
you idiot."

The man says: "I think you'll find I wasn't talking to you."

Well, isn't This Special?

2006-01-18T21:05:00.000+01:00

This just in:

Dear Anna,Hubby and Kids;

We have wonderful news! Your brother and I were engaged last weekend!! No date yet, but we'll keep you posted!

Love,

Thenextonetofuckupyourplansentirely

Great. Just. Great.

I've Lost the Plot

2006-01-15T15:23:00.000+01:00

It's Sunday afternoon and hubby is yet again sleeping off a night shift. I'd like to take the kids swimming or something to give him some peace and quiet but it's pissing rain and the wind is howling as it blasts between the houses. Not great weather to wait for a Dublin bus in.

It's times like these that I want to buy a car. There are several reasons why we haven't done so, all of which come down to money. It's not that we can't afford a car. It's that we can't afford a car and the oodles of travelling that we promised ourselves we'd do while we're on this side of the pond.

In the first two years we were here, we did get around quite a bit. We went to the west coast of Ireland, Scotland, England, France, Germany, Luxembourg, Belgium, Lanzarote (Canary Islands) and I went to Portugal. Last year, we went to the south of Ireland and then hubby's mom got married so we spent the rest of our vacation time and money on our trip to Canada. Somehow that trip seems to have shifted something in our collective psyche. It's as if, suddenly, we've decided that we live here now. That this is home. And everyone knows that once you settle, your life less ordinary becomes a lot more... well, ordinary.

This year, for example, we are going to a family wedding in Wales in July which hubby wants to extend into a two week vacation. Again with the family weddings. It's not that I don't love hubby's family, they are a wonderful bunch of people. It's just that we could (and would) be going to this wedding had we not come to Ireland. Therefore, I can't figure out why I'm here, living in a rented house with nothing to call my own (except of course, my tv licence), if I'm going to travel exactly as I did when I was at home in Canada where I had a great job, a house and two cars.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put my raincoat on and trudge across the village to the grocery store and get something to cook for dinner.

By Default

2006-01-07T17:53:00.000+01:00

When we first arrived in Ireland, we didn't know whether we'd be staying beyond the first available flight home and so made a decision to buy as little as possible, especially in the way of electronics which couldn't be used overseas. We bought this computer that has served as our entertainment centre for the last three years. We watch movies, listen to music and keep in touch with family and friends through it.

We've moved house three times in the three years we've been here, for a number of reasons, not the least of which are the rapacious landlords of the Emerald Isle. The third and current house came with a television. At that point we had gone some eighteen months without tv. We chose not to hook it up. The kids complained a little; the video store did not.

And then it happened. The tv licence man came a knocking. A tv licence, for those of you not familiar with the concept, is a yearly tax that you pay for the privilege of owning a television, or in our case, simply having one on the property. These taxmen have power too. They can send your ass to court! We tried to reason with him, offered to show him the dusty thing to prove that it wasn't in use. No dice. We then said that we'd have the landlord remove it. Too late, said he. Pay the tax or go to jail in 21 days.

We spent about twenty days debating the pros and cons of life in an Irish jail. On day twenty one, we bought the stupid licence (one hundred and fifty five smackers for those of you who appreciate that sort of detail). Oddly, however, having a licence doesn't guarantee that you can actually watch your tv. Good money was thrown after bad in the search for a decent antenna. We managed to get two and a half stations with the antenna. And that was okay with me... I discovered blogs and eventually started this one. I even managed to convince hubby to start a family blog with me to chronicle our adventures on this side of the pond.

This Christmas, among the incredible mountain of loot that Santa deposited down our chimney came a subscription to Sky TV. The kids were ecstatic! 999 channels; something for everyone, wuhoo! Except, I can't get near the fucking thing. In the two weeks we've had it, I've managed to watch one episode of The Naked Chef and a pile of crap called Extreme Makeover, Home Edition.

The other evening, when the kids finally unglued themselves from Nickelodeon and went to bed, hubby suggested that I'd enjoy a program called CSI Miami. And I did. Until the first commercial break when he picked up the remote and clicked through all of the other 998 channels to see what we were missing. By the time we got back to CSI, it was another commercial break and I realized I had a decision to make.

I estimated the cost of having the remote surgically removed from hubby's rectum and then went back to blogging.

Just Full of Surprises!

2005-12-31T16:21:00.000+01:00

Thursday night I went to Vicar Street for the first time. It was a night that held many surprises for a woman such as myself.

The first one came early. I had agreed to meet my friend Jacqueline in the bar at Connolly Station. Being a true Dub, she has a strong mistrust of town and doesn't know her way around the place so it was up to me to decide where to meet. I suggested a few places which she responded to with discomfort ranging from blank stare to deer caught in headlights. Eventually, I was able to determine that her bus would drop her near the station and since I was going by train it made sense that we meet there. All was going swimmingly, meaning I hadn't missed the damn train, when I got a text message that read, "Bar closed. Off to a bad start." It was a good thing I was sitting down, let me tell you. A bar, in Dublin, closed at seven in the evening?!? Unheard of!

Jacquie managed the two point five second wait in the station very well. By that, I mean that she didn't accidently get on a train bound for Belfast nor was she accosted by any mad commuters. Since they changed the lighting in the bathrooms so that the junkies can't find their veins and added security, nobody very interesting bothers hanging out in the train station any more.

We left the train station and hailed a taxi. Well, it wasn't as if we actually hailed it, it was more like we got in and sat down when it pulled up along side of us and the door opened. Taxi magic. As we drove the short distance to Vicar Street, the cabbie struck up a conversation. Jacquie explained that the tickets we had were a birthday gift to her from her son and we were going to see The Legends of Irish Folk. Because he is Irish and naturally begrudging, the cabbie wasted no time in trashing everything about the performance we were about to see. Jacquie wasn't really bothered by it, but decided that now was a good time to tell me (an Irish folk neophyte) that we'd likely be the youngest people in attendance. Since this was Jacquie's 49th birthday, I was a little taken aback. I wasn't really bothered though; I knew there'd be a bar.

Since we had arrived well before the gig started, the bar was where we found ourselves before the show. As we walked in a wave of people walked in behind us. Most of them, as it turned out, were geriatric. In fact, we ended up giving our table away as we couldn't enjoy our pints while fearing that the old gentleman standing beside us might fall under the strain of his own body weight. Luckily, that was just at the time when the doors opened and we were invited to take our seats. Great seats they were too; we had a table in the second row. As the place filled up, I went to the bar for another round and we got ourselves settled for the show.

Just as the show started, a group of four large men about my age came and sat at the table behind us. There was some jostling as they organized themselves and I didn't pay much heed to being banged on the butt a couple of times as the first of the Legends took the stage. Up until that moment in time, I had thought that Ronnie Drew was just some quirky guy that Irish Rail hired as the poster boy for their expansion project. I listened as he told stories and sang songs in his gravelly voice and was glad I came.

Next up was Paddy Reilly. Again, I was blown away - I knew this guy! He's the voice of Carroll's Irish Gift Stores... if you spend more than a hundred euro in Carroll's, you get Paddy's cd free! Due to Carroll's being my store of choice for any overseas gift, I was at least familiar with a lot of Paddy's songs. Again, my butt was jostled. I started to think perhaps this wasn't as incidental as I'd imagined. I looked at the distance between our table and the one in front and then tried to look around to see whether there was an extra row of seats between our table and the next. Finally, I nudged Jacquie and asked her if my ass was overhanging my seat. She said she couldn't see as it was dark and asked me why. I said that the guy behind me kept bumping me and if he didn't stop, I was going to insist he buy me a drink. In my bid to not be heard by the guy behind me, I stage whispered this directly into the ear of the guy in front of me... smooth.

Intermission happened. There was more going to the bar, finding the loo and general reorganizing at the table. Then, my buddy behind, gave me the biggest knock of all. I turned and he said, "Oh, sorry, sorry, didn't mean to knock into you that time". To which I replied, "Ah, that's too bad, if you'd meant it I could have expected a drink". He copped my accent and asked where I was from, we chatted for a minute and then Finbar Furey took the stage. Now this is Jacquie's dream man. She'd been raving about him for ages and in fairness, I could see how some women would be attracted to him. I'd never thought of folk music as being sexy before I saw this man. Apparently, ole Finbar did something for Buddy Behind as well because by the time Liam Clancy took the stage, a pair of big hands were on either side of my hips, moving in a most erotic way.

I froze for a moment in what was either shock or enjoyment; maybe a bit of both, then turned and said, "Okay, now I KNOW that's on purpose!" To which he replied in what I'm sure was meant to be a drunken slur but for some reason came out as a sexy whisper, "Ah, yeah, but I'm not denying it now!" Going with my better judgement for a change, I asked him to stop. Unfortunately, he did. Just as abruptly, the concert ended. The lights went up; my buddy said good luck and good night and we all left Vicar Street.

I'm going back in March to see Des Bishop; I can't wait!

Because Everyone Else Jumped Off the Flats in Ballymun...

2005-12-28T20:23:00.001+01:00

Here's a list of the top ten movies I didn't sleep through in 2005. It's prolly comprehensive as there are only 3 days left but I refuse to commit. Funny, that wasn't a problem for me 5 years ago... then again, neither was staying awake for ninety minutes.

Anyway, in an order only my brain can justify, here they are:

Chasing Amy. Seen it a bunch of times, but that bitch has perfected the scream-cry which gets in my brain.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire I'm probably the only one that was glad they condensed some of this one.

Broken Flowers I loved this movie. My friend passed out. In the cinema. Oh well, her loss.

Adam and Paul If you haven't seen this, you need to - regardless of what side of the pond you inhabit.

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith Okay, I snoozed through some of the interminable fight scenes, but don't tell anybody!

The Magic Roundabout But only cause I pretended to have eaten mushrooms first!

Dogma Because I love to fuck with the clergy...

Into the West Which may be the sweetest Irish movie that doesn't feature Cillian Murphy.

Zoolander Now that's some funny shit, no matter what year it was released; makes me want to perfect a left turn!

Wedding Crashers Imperfect people playing imperfect people... coolness!

There may have been more, but my Dori-like brain can't remember them at the moment.

On Stephen's Day

2005-12-26T20:09:00.000+01:00

So, I read this guy who calls himself Twenty Major and brags that he's still smoking in Dublin Bars. He's got this combination of intelligence and obscenity that I find appealing. If you've been wondering why I like your own fine self, it's likely that you have a similar combination of traits. Quirky, good; irreverent, great; obscene, wuhoo!

Anyway, I left a Christmas comment on ole Twenty's blog and then later today was looking at my own stats, meagre as they are and you'll never guess what I found there. Someone from the armpit of the universe (read Pembroke Ontario Canada) has been checking me out. How did this person find me you ask? And it's a good question, too. I'm pretty sure my parents, who happen to live in the mole of said armpit (read Petawawa - if you can) don't know about this blog...

I think it's completely bizarre that such a person should find my blog through Twenty's. Karmic even. So, to you Pembrokian I say, G'day, G'day and all other things of the Valley.

Happy Boxing Day, eh!

The Shortest Day

2005-12-21T22:02:00.000+01:00

Happy Solstice Everyone!

Last week I went to visit Newgrange which is, among other things, the site of a megalithic passage tomb. It was built some time around 3200BC and is only ever fully lit on the sunrise of the winter solstice. Today, that happened at 9:08am.

Except that the sun didn't actually rise this morning. It sort of just misted into daylight. As I walked to work after taking the kids to school, I congratulated myself on not being one of the three hundred people freezing their asses off in a former cow field to mark the occasion.

And now, I plan to take advantage of the longest night and sleep for hours.

All good things...

2005-12-20T20:52:00.000+01:00

If your husband plans a night out with people that you worked with for two years (two and a half if you count the time you were out with a broken fuckin ankle) without bothering to look at getting a babysitter, does it not mean that he'd rather go without you???

All responses considered on this one...

But Wait!

2005-12-16T21:53:00.000+01:00

Dayam but aren't I clever!

Well, nearly...

Look Ma, No Hands!

2005-12-15T18:41:00.000+01:00

Jeff inspired me to create my very own South Park self. It is a scarily accurate likeness; unfortunately, I can't seem to upload it and I don't know why. If you can help, please leave me a comment.

If you'd like to see yourself, check it out here.

2005-12-10T15:53:00.000+01:00

I've got a shiny new hard drive! And it works!

I've also got another cold, a Christmas tree to be collected,a messy living room and a cousin I haven't seen in fifteen years arriving in five hours.

Looking forward to catching up with you soon... in the meantime, blog on!

2005-11-30T23:29:00.000+01:00

I'm on the mend, but my brain is still malfunctioning. I've been fighting with this post for the better part of an hour and it's just not happening. Hopefully I'll find my way through this soon. In the meantime, I'll go back to reading!

A la Letterman

2005-11-26T14:50:00.000+01:00

Top ten ways my body has betrayed me this week:

10. Waking me up in the middle of the night and not letting me go back to sleep until ten minutes before the alarm went off. I thought we were over that!

9. Drying my mouth out and closing my throat thus making me say "CACK" while I was trying to read a very serious report aloud. Very professional.

8. Developing a chest infection which cost me a LOT of money in doctors visits, prescriptions and Hot Whiskey ingredients.

7. Hoarking up a lung. Which I still haven't found.

6. Implementing hot and cold spells with no warning and often at the same time.

5. Producing enough mucus to make me gag and then doing so within earshot of the children. Like they weren't freaked out enough that Mom is sick.

4. Kicking in the ole "feed a cold, feed a fever" habit.

3. Making me wheeze like an eighty five year old fifty a day smoker. Pass me my air.

2. Making me aroused just in case I don't live through this. Dead sexy.

And the number 1 way in which my body betrayed me this week :

Sneeze - wet myself.

My Karma Ran Over your Dogma

2005-11-23T15:34:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I wonder if the fates conspire...

I am the kinda girl who can never say never. Experience has taught me that any sort of cavalier assertions on my part will result in my being smacked down off my pedestal quicker than you can say hypocrite.

The penance for last week's post for example, has been that the pump on the boiler system at home has crapped out and we've been without heat for the better part of a week. And then Ireland decides to go cold on me, producing beautiful, but dangerously frosty nights which currently last anywhere between 16 and 18 hours. Pretty serious karma you might think.

But wait, it gets better. I've just been to the doctor where I was diagnosed with a chest infection. He precribed ventolin and antibiotics and told me to be sure to stay warm so that it doesn't develop into pleurisy or pneumonia.

So, I've decided I'm going back to bed. The barking seal on my chest should keep me warm.

Tools of the Trade

2005-11-18T20:45:00.000+01:00

It's Friday and in my newly nine to five existence, that is a happy thing. Since I don't want to be Dooced, I'm not going to give you the gory details, but I will say it's been a long five days made longer by the fact that I am the building "snagger" and had to spend a lot of this week chasing builders around to ensure that they didn't run away.

The buildings I work at are new. We took possession in April, before construction was complete as the job was two years behind schedule at that point and speculation was that the guys were trying to get another summer out of it as they'd gotten such great tans the previous three summers.

Now, I don't have an awful lot of experience in construction, but Irish building is a law unto itself. Shoddy doesn't cover it. Criminal comes close.

I expect a huge part of the explanation lies with the boom in construction in Ireland. There are more jobs than there are people to do them. Every guy with any skill has discovered that he can make millions as a contractor. He then promptly bites off more than he can chew and has to hire help. Since all the skilled folks are already contracting for themselves, he ends up with fourteen year old boys and the odd cowboy whose plaster work is more surfable than the Irish sea ever hopes to be.

So, they slap something together and run to the next job. Then, when it falls apart, they blame the architect (or each other, depending on what the problem is) and I get to spend several days per week talking on the phone to their secretarieslashwives. The thing is, I don't really care what the problem is, or who caused it. I just want it fixed. Reasonably quickly.

But while we're on the subject of laying blame, Mr. Heating Man; here's a lil intelligence for you. When you install the thermostat for a room in a cupboard, say in, oh... a completely different room, it will take the ambient temperature OF THE CUPBOARD. That IS your problem. Nothing to do with the architect, the electrician, the boiler man, the joiner or the disgruntled labourer who was reported for setting fireworks off on the site six months ago. Nor is it the work of the wee fairies or the ghosts of the folk who were disturbed when their ancient burial ground was disturbed by this building. This one is your fault. Just move the damn thing already.

I have to cut this post short as the Irish Builders Association has just offered me a position as a heating and airconditioning consultant. Amazing where a little common sense can get you in times like these!

Belly Up

2005-11-13T15:07:00.000+01:00

It's been 8 days since my last hangover. I'm counting for a reason. My drinking has given me cause for concern lately and being the product of a pair of practicing alcoholics I am all too familiar with the havoc alcoholism can wreak on a family.

I have an addictive personality and an incredibly active imagination. While the hedonist in me often has a very good time, it can be a scary combination. They say that knowledge is power and I suppose that having an awareness of these things is helpful in that it allows me to change and/or avoid certain behaviours.

I cannot gamble except under extremely controlled circumstances. For me that means having only the money I can afford to lose on my person. All forms of credit stay home. I do not gamble alone. I do not mix gambling and alcohol. If public transport is required to get home, I have to keep that money separate to the gambling money and even then it's not guaranteed that I won't be hoofing it. Best to give the taxi money to a friend to hold.

I cannot do cocaine, period. I did it once and had the time of my life. I have never felt as smart, confident, charming and sexy as I did that night. If I ever did it again, everything I own would go up my nose.

When I started chatting online, I was hooked immediately. I spent every possible moment in my cyber world. I used to describe it as an interactive novel. By the time my son was five he'd had enough. One day he said, "There's more to life than checking your email, Mom." That was a pretty serious wake up call and my children are very important to me, but in all honesty, I still struggle to respond appropriately to the people around me when I'm at the computer.

You know how some people eat when they are depressed? I eat for everything! Sad, lonely, bored, angry, overwhelmed, scared or happy - it doesn't matter what the occasion is, I'll eat for it. I am strongly considering trying a liquid diet to see if it will help me break the habit of stuffing myself.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this today. I imagine it's related to my hangover guilt and shame. Tomorrow, I'll start counting again.

New Address

2005-11-11T18:08:00.000+01:00

My apologies for the move. I just wasn't comfortable sharing my supposedly private blog with some of the people that now have access to that address. As you can see, nothing much else has changed.

You can be sure that if you were invited here, I meant it!

Looking forward to blogging on...

In the Blink of an Eye

2005-11-10T19:38:00.000+01:00

Well, I totally screwed up yesterday. Remember how I said this blog was secret? NOT ANYMORE!

Not long after I started this blog, I started one with hubby. It's designed to share our expat adventures with our friends and family without jamming their email inboxes with our photos and ramblings.

We'd been on hiatus from our blog for a good few months and several people had recently asked for the address which spurned us into action. We posted a few things and I sent a "Dear Everyone" email to let people know that we were back in the blogosphere. Somehow, it didn't make it to my other (read personal) email account. No problem, thought I and quickly pounded out another, clicked all the friends and family that I wanted to have the family blog and hit send.

It was at that very moment I realized that in my rush I had inadvertently typed the wrong blogspot addy. I slammed the back key, changed the blogger address and hit send. I hoped against hope that I'd been quick enough.

The next day I got an email from a longtime netfriend who asked, "when did you change your name to Shan?"

D'OH!

I then developed Tourette's Syndrome. As a matter of fact, I'm still twitching at the thoughts of my 13 year old niece reading some of this stuff.

Currently, I'm trying to decide whether to shut this blog down and reopen somewhere else. I'll have to decide fairly quickly.

Hallowe'en Revisited

2005-11-06T15:42:00.000+01:00

This was the view from our bedroom window on Hallowe'en night.

Have I mentioned that fireworks are illegal here?

Pumpkins aren't, though. This is what you saw when you approached our front door.

Pretty cool stuff and only six days post-event. Man, am I ever speeding along!

Professional Development

2005-11-03T20:20:00.000+01:00

Hubby's off this week. This is great for child care but wretched for blogging. He's in the shower now, so in the interest of keeping this blog quasi-secret (read mine) I'll write quickly.

Yesterday I was asked to speak with the project manager and the services manager for the agency that I work for. I wasn't surprised as the two most senior people at our location have been fighting like cats in heat for the past week and the management types were there to help them resolve their issues. I was surprised, however, when instead of asking my sage advice about this particular situation, they asked me if I'd be willing to stay on for fourteen weeks beyond my original contract in order to facilitate a parental leave. I said yes. So, I'm there until April now. Unless of course, Tasmania calls first.

While this is good for me in many ways, in retrospect maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to say yes. I wonder what would have happened if I'd made my acceptance conditional on them sorting out the eejits that are supposed to be in the lead...

In other news, I've been sleeping and dreaming well and often. Lots of heroes, lots of magic, lots of healing. Not sure what that means exactly but it beats the hell out of what's been going on the past few weeks!

Hallowe'en

2005-10-29T12:38:00.000+02:00

After three hundred and sixty four days of telling the children never to take candy from strangers, we dress em up and let em loose, often in strange neighbourhoods to beg for candy from... strangers.

And then we're surprised when they get a little older and start calling us hypocrites.

Hmmmmm.

That's Why They Pay Me the Big Bucks

2005-10-23T20:27:00.000+02:00

Let's start with a simple truth. They don't pay me the big bucks by any stretch of the imagination. When I tell people what I do for a living there is usually a short silence and then a comment like, "Wow, you must be a good person", or, "that must be very rewarding", neither of which are particularly true.

While my specific job has changed over the years, I suppose the category is "Human Services". For me, that has meant everything from working with disturbed teens in a residential setting to counselling rape victims to facilitating courses and back again. Currently, I work in a transitional housing program for people who were homeless.

But what I do is something else altogether. Something that is incredibly difficult to place a monetary value on. I see the good in people. I work to help them see their own worth; to value what they have to offer; to recognize that they are skilled and capable human beings and that if they spent half the time and energy working on improving their education and training that they spend fucking the system, they'd be so much better off.

It's a hot commodity around the world right now. Hubby does youth work exclusively; has for some fifteen years. Luckily, our skill sets have afforded us a chance to see the world, a gift we both feel strongly that we should give to our children. So, I suppose in a lot of ways, we're very rich. Thanks for asking.

The Grass is Always Greener...

2005-10-22T19:50:00.000+02:00

in Australia?

Today I went to a migration expo with my Scottish pal, Wee Susan. We call her wee, not because she is a little person, but because when we met her first, it was the word she said constantly. The wee cows. The wee shop down the wee road. Everything was wee. She's been in Ireland the same length of time as we have; she was recruited in our hire group. She, like myself, had the good sense to get the hell out of that job and get something better.

In the last three years, however, everything has gone from being wee to being dead. Dead gorgeous. Dead sexy. Dead cool. It's a good thing we're not just getting to know her now; we'd have to call her Dead Susan.

So, it looks like we may be heading Down Under in the next little while. Apparently Tasmania is recruiting. I don't know much about Tasmania, other than it is home to that cartoon character from Bugs Bunny, but it seems like a good place to base ourselves while we explore that part of the world.

The recruiter I spoke to seemed very interested in us so I guess we'll have to wait and see what she comes up with. I'm not sure I'm ready to leave Ireland yet, but as another recruiter pointed out, time's a ticking and I'm not getting any younger. Urgh!

Panic Stations

2005-10-21T19:18:00.000+02:00

I tend not to panic. I am generally pretty level headed. In fact,I pride myself on keeping my head when those around me are losing theirs and blaming it on me. Which is not to say I can't predict that the shit will hit the fan. I usually know when that's coming and often tell someone. Unfortunately, they usually don't believe me so we have to go through it anyway, but I digress.

Yesterday, our girl woke up covered in spots. My first thought was chicken pox. She's already had them once, but there are different strains and we are in a different country, so I thought it possible. Big red watery hives is what they turned out to be on closer inspection. We went through everything she'd eaten, worn and slept in for the past few days and couldn't figure out the cause. She didn't feel sick nor was she running a fever; she was just covered in these horrible itchy hives. Even her pretty little eyelid was sporting one.

I went for the antihistamine only to discover it was out of date. On the basis of this alone, we decided to take her to the doctor. It's a good thing we did. You see, our girl had a chest infection a couple of weeks ago. She'd been prescribed amoxicillin, which she's had before, so we didn't consider that it could be the culprit. Apparently, that's the difference between those of us who know a little something and your average paid professional.

According to our doctor, you can take penicillin twelve times but have an allergic reaction on the thirteenth. A first reaction is generally mild, like the hives our girl is trying not to scratch. A second reaction however, could be deadly.

Which made me think; what if the antihistamine had been in date? Would we have just treated her and not taken her to the doc? The consequences of that could have been fatal. So, I'm having a little post incident panic.

Excuse me while I go cuddle our girl.

Shan's Philisophical Question of the Day

2005-10-18T21:38:00.000+02:00

If an atheist is damned by a submissive...

who cares?

Fall Fowl

2005-10-16T15:04:00.000+02:00

In Canada, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the Monday after the harvest moon. It fell on the tenth of October this year. Due to the fact that getting a turkey "off-season" here is like trying to buy alcohol during the prohibition, we had to put the date of our celebration off until today.

As (my) luck would have it, the butcher wasn't able to get a whole turkey; instead of letting me know, he went ahead and ordered the equivalent amount of turkey breast. And then cooked it. Now, I'm not a huge fan of turkey breast at the best of times. I'm a dark meat kinda girl. So, you can imagine how I felt when I was presented with this lump of meat which, by the time I'm done reheating it is going to be the texture of an eraser. Delighted.

To add that special touch, hubby decided he didn't want to invite people to join us this year. In fairness, the past two Thanksgivings have turned out to be huge parties and I wasn't really up for that this year either. But, I did think we'd have a few people over; I envisioned a dinner party type of affair, perhaps two other couples and their children. Uh..No.

So, here I am with enough eraser to feed about 24 people and nobody to feed it to on my favourite holiday.

I am thankful. Truly I am. It's just caught in my throat at the moment. I'm sure the wine will help.

Salsa Dip

2005-10-14T00:04:00.000+02:00

I love to dance; always have. Ever since I can remember, music has moved me to move my body.

A few weeks ago, in a drunk moment and because there is no such thing as better judgment in my world, I agreed to join a Salsa dancing class with a couple of neighbours. I figured what the hell, what was the worst that could happen? That tends to be my attitude toward most things,(which gets amplified exponentially in direct proportion to how much I've had to drink). What I didn't ask myself, however, was what was the best that could happen?

Well, okay, so I haven't yet been headhunted for Riverdance, but it could still happen...I'm only... fuck me, I'm 38! How the hell did THAT happen???

Anyway, never mind all that; here's what is happening: I'm loving it! I'm exercising for an hour and not even noticing. I'm working my body and sweating and laughing and generally having a good time without the aid of alcohol or men. Imagine that! For those of you who don't know me, I resent any sweating that doesn't lead directly to orgasm. I just don't like the way it feels.

Somehow, this is different. Dancing is fun; sensual and sexy. It's a lot like sex actually; especially in that doing it makes me happy to be alive. We salsa, mambo, samba and generally shake our asses to such hip tunes as Mac the Knife and Time of my Life. We take turns being "the man". We laugh at each other and ourselves and our incredibly neurotic instructor (who tells us EVERY week that SHE's the TEACHER and Joan is the HELPER). As they say here, it's great gas altogether.

Best fifty euros I've spent in a long time.